Heart Failure (19 page)

Carrie had heard this argument before, from Mrs. Freemont and others like her, and she knew that answer was far from the truth.
No, it’s the money
. “I’m sorry. If you wish, you can talk with the clinic administrator. But the matter is out of my hands.”

As the woman huffed out of her office, Carrie reflected that if looks could kill, she’d be lifeless on her office floor from hateful glares directed at her by Rose Freemont, Calvin McDonald, and a few other patients. And that thought triggered another one . . . one that made her catch her breath. Maybe Adam’s alternative theory hadn’t been too far off the mark. Maybe she
was
the target.

Carrie peered over her menu at Adam, who seemed engrossed in the dinner choices the restaurant offered. “They didn’t hold your job? You were gone a week, and they replaced you?”

“Hartley—he’s the senior partner—he made it sound like it was strictly a business decision, and maybe it was. The practice has been getting pretty busy. But what he told me before I left was they were going to arrange for Mary—that’s the new paralegal—to work for a couple of weeks while I was gone. He said if she worked out and they saw there was enough work for two, after I got back they’d add her full-time.”

“But they didn’t wait. And they didn’t just add her. They gave her your position and stuck you in some out-of-the-way office.”

The waiter came and took their orders. After he padded away, Carrie said, “So that’s it? It’s a done deal?”

Adam paused with bread in one hand, a knife bearing a pat of butter in the other. “Brittany, the receptionist, told me there was more to the story. So I bought her lunch, and she gave me the real scoop.”

Carrie wanted to ask more about Brittany but decided to let that go for now. She began making circles on the tabletop with the condensation from her water glass. “So what’s the ‘real scoop’?”

“First of all, Mary’s a looker. Mid- to late thirties, dark hair, a figure—”

Carrie raised an eyebrow that dared him to go on with his description. “Okay, no need to draw me a picture.”

Adam looked over Carrie’s shoulder. “No picture, but if you want a real-life snapshot, find an excuse to look behind you. She just came in.”

Carrie eased her napkin out of her lap, then bent to pick it up. She gave a quick glance. “Black sheath with a white jacket over it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Didn’t get a good look, but from what I saw, I think you’re right.”

Adam murmured, “You’re about to get a better view. She’s coming over.” He stood. “Mary, good to see you.”

Carrie had always considered herself reasonably attractive: a nice face framed by blond hair and highlighted by green eyes. But at that moment she felt outclassed. Mary had carefully styled, shoulder-length black hair. Her blue eyes sparkled.
Her teeth were as white and perfect as the simple pearl choker she wore.

And Mary’s voice matched her looks—slightly husky, definitely sultry, every word carrying an implied invitation. “Adam, I thought it was you.”

“Mary Delkus, this is Dr. Carrie Markham.”

Carrie stayed seated but held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure,” Mary said. She glanced up and frowned. “Well, I see they’re serving our dinner, so I’d better get back. Doctor, nice to meet you. Adam, see you tomorrow.” She turned and wended her way to a table where an older man rose and pulled out her chair.

“Well, I have to agree. She’s a knockout,” Carrie said. “Should I know the man she’s with? He looks familiar.”

“Uh-huh. That’s Bruce Hartley. According to our receptionist, Mary lost no time getting close to him. Brittany says the woman must be handling a bunch of confidential files, because she spends a lot of time in Hartley’s office . . . with the door closed.”

“What did the other partner—what’s her name? Evans? What did Mrs. Evans have to say about all this?”

“That’s what surprises me. Janice Evans is a very sharp woman. Frankly, I don’t know how Hartley got her to agree to the move, but somehow he did.”

Their salads arrived, and they spent a few moments eating. After a couple of minutes, Carrie paused with a forkful of lettuce halfway to her mouth. “Seeing Mary with Bruce Hartley, I guess I know now how she got your position.”

“Oh, give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she really needed the job. And Hartley says she’s good at her work.”

Carrie laid her fork carefully on her salad plate. “Men! All a woman has to do is bat her eyes, and you think she’s the most innocent flower in creation. Believe me, the female of the species can be much deadlier than the male, as somebody once said.”

In a moment the waiter returned and replaced their salad plates with their entrees. After a few bites Carrie said, “Adam, since you told me how long Charlie DeLuca’s been dead, I’ve been rethinking the possibility that the attacks are aimed at me. Maybe you’re right.”

Adam frowned at Carrie’s words. “When I mentioned it, you didn’t think much of that theory. What made you change your mind?”

“You mean other than the fact that the first two attacks came when we were together?” Carrie sipped from her water glass. “I realized that it’s not so far-fetched that an angry patient might try to hurt me . . . even kill me.”

“Did something happen to bring about this change?”

Carrie nodded. “I had a visit from a hateful old woman, a patient of mine. She came to the clinic last month with chest pain and demanded immediate attention because she was having a heart attack. I dropped what I was doing to check her over. We discovered that what she had was chest pain from acid reflux.”

They stopped talking as the waiter cleared their plates. They passed on dessert, asked for coffee. When the waiter was
gone, Adam leaned forward and took Carrie’s hand. “So you’d think the woman would be grateful.”

“Nope,” Carrie said. “When I gave her the news, I also told her she needed to lose weight, avoid all her favorite foods—caffeine, carbohydrates, carbonation, and chocolate—and take the medicine I prescribed. That didn’t sit well with her, so now she’s up in arms because she got a bill for my services. I mean, no heart attack, why should I charge her?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Nope, she was really livid when she left. And she’s not the only one. For instance, there are the patients like—well, there’s this man who brought his wife to the ER with pain in her abdomen. He apparently thought it was indigestion, but it turned out to be a perforated ulcer. By the time she came in, she was in shock. I made the diagnosis and got a surgeon to see her immediately, but she died on the operating table. The man hasn’t said as much, but judging from the way he looks at me every time our paths cross, I’m pretty sure he blames me for her death, and he’s pretty angry.”

“But—”

“Here’s our coffee. Let’s just drink it and relax,” Carrie said. She looked across the restaurant and saw Mary returning her gaze. “We can talk about this later, but not in such a public place.”

In a few minutes the waiter came by. “Would you like more coffee?”

Adam exchanged glances with Carrie. He was ready to go, and apparently, so was she. “I think we’re ready for the check.”

Outside, Adam took Carrie’s arm and steered her away from her car. “Get in mine. We need to talk some more.”

“No. Let’s go in mine. I have somewhere in mind, and it’s better if we’re in my car.”

Carrie led Adam to her silver Prius parked a little distance away from his Subaru. She motioned him toward the driver’s side. “Want to drive?”

“No, it’s your car. Go ahead and drive.”

In a moment the car rolled out of the restaurant parking lot. Carrie took a right at the first intersection. “Let me ask you a question,” she said. “Where would you say the safest place is for me to park right now?”

Adam thought about that. “The police station?”

“No,” Carrie said. “How long would we be there before someone came out and checked to see if there was a problem? Try again.”

“Your house?”

Carrie shook her head. “Not out front. Too dark and relatively isolated. And not in the garage. We’d be essentially trapped in the house.”

“So I guess you mean . . .”

“Yep, the hospital.”

Adam shivered a bit. “Not exactly a scene of happy memories for me,” he said. “Remember, someone tried to run me down there.”

“We’ll be fine. If anyone sees my car tonight, it belongs to a doctor who’s come back to the hospital.” Carrie wheeled the Prius into the parking lot nearest the Emergency Room. She chose a dark corner at the front. To their right, grass stretched like a calm black sea. To their left were probably a dozen or more empty spaces before the next car in the row, a
huge, silver Hummer. Adam figured it belonged to some doctor who was more concerned with appearances than ecology.

She moved a lever and pushed a button to turn off the engine. “Now this is simply a doctor’s car in the hospital parking lot. And we should have some privacy.”

Adam half turned in his seat to face Carrie. “You were going to explain why the attacks could have been aimed at you.”

“I’ve already told you about two of my patients who seem to hate me—truly hate me. I could name a half dozen more. That happens to everyone, even a doctor. And one of these people could be going a little crazy about it.”

“I’ll accept that the drive-by shooting could have been aimed at you. The same could go for the firebomb at my office. But what about someone setting me up and trying to ram my car right here?”

“I thought about that,” Carrie said. “Let me ask you. If I wanted to hurt you, hurt you deeply, what would I do: hurt you or hurt someone you loved?”

“I guess—”

Adam never finished the sentence. Suddenly the driver’s side window exploded and Adam heard two sharp cracks separated by a couple of seconds. His first thought was of Carrie. In a single motion, he unlatched his seat belt, lunged across the intervening space, and pulled her toward him, covering her body with his. Before the echoes of the shots had died, Adam called out, “Carrie. Are you okay?” When there was no answer, he said, “Carrie! Speak to me!”

Adam eased up and peered through the remains of the
driver’s side window. Nothing moved. No one was visible in the dark parking lot. His hand went to his ankle holster, but he left the gun there. First, check on Carrie.

He bent down and touched her shoulder. “You can get up now.”

Adam shook Carrie, gently at first, then more vigorously, but there was no response. He touched her head and his fingers came away wet. He held his hand in front of his face, but it was too dark to see. Nevertheless, he was sure—his hand was wet with Carrie’s blood.

FOURTEEN

ADAM WAS OUT HIS DOOR IN A SECOND. HE SPRINTED AROUND the car. If the shooter was still out there, Adam was making himself a target, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Carrie. He opened the driver’s side door and unlatched the seat belt that still held her, folded sideways toward the passenger side. He scooped her into his arms and ran for the ER doors that beckoned in the darkness. They seemed a mile away, but he covered the ground as fast as he could. Between ragged breaths, he shouted, “Help! She’s been shot. Somebody help!”

At what appeared to be a loading dock for the emergency vehicles, a younger man emerged from between two parked ambulances and jogged toward Adam.

“I thought I heard gunshots. What’s going on?” he called as he closed the gap between them.

Adam gulped air. “She’s been shot,” he said. “Help me get her inside.”

As they approached the double glass doors, light-spill from inside showed Adam what his fingers had already told him: Carrie’s face was covered with blood.

As soon as they were inside, the other man called to the woman behind the desk, “We need help. Stat. Dr. Markham’s been shot!”

After that, things went almost too quickly for Adam to follow. Two men in hospital scrubs wheeled a gurney into the waiting room, took Carrie from Adam’s arms, and gently laid her on the stretcher. A third man, wearing a navy golf shirt and dark slacks, charged through the outer doors, took in the scene, and went into action. Even without a white coat, his demeanor screamed, “I’m a doctor.”